


Lift of the Wind (Can't Lift My Soul)

by ifdragonscouldtalk



Series: Tumblr Prompts/Drabbles [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 09:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11529672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifdragonscouldtalk/pseuds/ifdragonscouldtalk
Summary: "Psst psst, have you considered writing Tony with wings, having to fly out of Siberia despite being all battered up. Because the suit is down, and there's no other way out." Originally written for tumblr.





	Lift of the Wind (Can't Lift My Soul)

Tony hadn’t flown in… Well, years. There was a reason he couldn’t fly out of Afghanistan. He loved flying in the suit, but honestly, it wasn’t the same. 

Now, he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t even know if his wings would carry him, but it was all he had, so he had to try. Getting out of the suit had taken far too long, and even without the arc reactor in his chest hypothermia set in faster for him than for others due to his poor circulation. It was only a matter of time. 

Not to mention the blood loss. Yeah, he shouldn’t mention that. He probably shouldn’t think about it either. 

Things couldn’t get much worse. 

He had to wonder, only for a moment, if he really deserved this. To be left in a strange land, with no help, and dying. No really, dying. Steve didn’t think that his shield had done no damage, did he? Did they think that he had backup coming? But he told them he had come alone, hadn’t he. They knew. 

He probably did deserve this. 

He couldn’t help shuddering. He hadn’t changed, so he was in a torn and bloodied suit, in the middle of Siberia, and it was cold. Everything was cold. He felt numb. Could he even remember the last time he hadn’t? 

He stripped off his coat and shirt, looking down at the mesmerizing wolf’s bane bruises blooming across his chest and freeing his wings, shaking them away from his back and shivering violently in the freezing air. He probably wouldn’t make it. He probably wouldn’t even make it off the ground. Even if he did make it off the ground, it was miles and miles before he could sleep –  _over 5,000 miles_  his brain whispered to him, cloying in his ear.  _You won’t make it. You won’t even make it out of Russia and into the ocean. You’ll die and no one will be here and no one will notice and no one will care._  He looked at his wings – they were damaged, broken, and had been since he could remember. Feathers missing, falling out, scars littering them. The voice in his head was probably right. The odds were low, too low. It was the only thing he could do, though. 

So he shivered, took two steps back, three steps forward, and fell, dropped right off the edge of the cliff in front of him and snapped his wings open in the wind. If he ignored the freezing chill rushing past him and the pain that burned in his back and wings from the force of it, he could almost pretend he was in the suit, going for a stroll. But he couldn’t ignore it. 

Everything was numb. He knew it should hurt. It had hurt when he had been hit, but it didn’t hurt anymore. He couldn’t feel anything but the stinging of the wind in his eyes. 

He flew. 

He flew for hours, he was sure. And while he flew, he cried. 

He cried for everything that had been lost. For the mothers, the children, the fathers, the people who had died because of him. For his mother, his father, for Peggy and for the fact that he could not attend, did not know about, her funeral. He cried for Pepper, for all she had sacrificed because of him. For Rhodey, for Yinsen. For Obie, and his betrayal, and the love Tony thought he had in the man. For Steve; his friends. Not his friends. Had they ever been his friends? Maybe they hadn’t. He didn’t know anymore. He couldn’t think. 

He cried, tears streaming down his face and blood streaming from his wings. He wouldn’t make it. He wouldn’t make it. He had to try, but he wouldn’t make it. He was over the ocean now. They wouldn’t find his body. The suit would be left – he had left the suit. Pepper and Rhodey would take care of that. They wouldn’t let anyone take the suit. They knew how important it was. 

He was amazed when he saw land. When he saw his tower, rising above everything else. He shouldn’t have made it. He shouldn’t have made it. It was impossible, statistically impossible, not just improbable – there was no chance he would’ve made it. He shouldn’t have made it. 

But he did. 

He stumbled through the doors of the hospital where he knew Rhodey was, blindly pushing past nurses, doctors, Peter, doorways, until he found the room, the room with Rhodey listening to Pepper rant, with Happy trying not to cry. He fell to his knees as they looked, moving numb lips and numb thoughts. 

“They’re gone,” he breathed. “They’re gone.” 

And he heard silence. 


End file.
